About daisies and decisions
by Sophia J
Summary: A very short insight into Elizabeth's thoughts while making her mind about Mr Darcy at the end of Pride and Prejudice. EB, FD.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

« He will come, he will not, he will come, he will not, he… »

It was then, at this precise moment. She was tearing off the petals of a daisy, doing unconsciously this most childish game while aimlessly wandering in Longbourn garden. It was then that Elizabeth Bennet knew, for sure, that she was in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy. As if her mind had needed to rest and drift alone after the maddening hours and days of self-imposed rational thinking and questioning, to finally find the answer. And it was not even that – an answer – it was an evidence.

All of a sudden, she wanted his hand, lightly rested on the small of her back. Not to support or guide her, but to accompany her. She felt, though not very articulately, that this has been his most wondrous gift since Hunsford: he had respected her and even apart most of that time, they had grown together. They both had revealed themselves in this chaotic relationship, and that was the beauty of it. She hadn't meant to change him. He had changed because she was able to make him see parts of himself he had ignored for years. As for herself, she had grown to acknowledge for the first time the complexity of the world. That didn't destroyed her confidence but placed it elsewhere. Maybe – she thought, amused – that will give a gentleness to her dry wit. She felt more herself than she had ever been, and that was because of him.

She looked at the landscape outside of the sheltered garden of Longbourn. The meadows, the fields, the brooks, the old trees and the dense hedgerows, full of birds twittering in the sprightliness of this early morning. She felt so much at her right place and in harmony that her lungs seemed too narrow to breathe.

But then, as suddenly as this insight had come to her, triggered by the quietness of the morning, the calm given by the automaticity of her walk and the rhythmic tearing off of the petals, profound anguish gripped her heart. Should he come… does that mean he still loves her? Will he propose again? She understood then the hell he must have lived in for months and it humbled her.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

In the meantime in London…

Ensconsed in his study, Fitzwilliam Darcy had his mind no less full of Elizabeth that she had hers of him, a few hours away in Longbourne. He was playing chess, alone. Himself against himself, trying not to let his imagination drift and imagine Elizabeth seated in front of him, on the other side of the table, moving the white pawns and making witty comments. He has had so many one-sided conversations with her, in the secret of his mind… maybe one-sided was not the right word, because in fact he usually imagines the all dialogue. His words and hers. She had, over these few months, gained a sort of strange consistency. He always asks himself what she would think of this or that, what she would do. That gave him some perspective about his interaction with other human beings, he realised now.

He could not go on like this. Living with a ghost in the back of his head, even if it was a very beautiful one. He already did that before, living with ghosts. His mother, then his father. He knew it was unhealthy and had not made him goods. There was a clear limit between remembering the dead persons and the absents, and living constantly with them. This ghost of Elizabeth… it was at the same time too much and not enough. He was wasting so much of his energy in this strange path. Action was what he needed now. To provoke his fate and make at last some kind of move, since he wouldn't tell her about what he had done for Lydia.

She had been so much more responsive at Pemberley. This gave him some hope. Her being there… he was such a rational man but couldn't avoid considering that meeting as a sign of fate – what love can make you do and think! It was preposterous! And so refreshing in a way, he had to admit: to see correspondences in the world, the beauty of every flower, the feeling of every ray of sun, and the heady smell of the earth at the beginning of a light shower of rain. He had never felt so powerfully these small details before. This love had enhanced his links to the world he lived in.

At Longbourne, last week, she had been shy. At first, he couldn't make sense of it. Shyness was not her usual behaviour. He had tried, time and again, to analyse her every word, reaction and expressions, replaying in his head the short visit with Bingley and the much longer dinner party. In a way, her shyness was a good sign, he decided. At least she was unsure of her feeling for him. He so wished now for another sign from fate. He retrieved some dice and, half laughing at himself for his stupidity, began to throw them: "If I a have a double six, I'll go back to Hertfordshire tomorrow and propose directly" – Double five – "If a make another double, I'll go back to Hertfordshire next week and try to spend time with her" – five and four – "If…". Then, fate decided for other tricks and suddenly appeared in the majestic form of a very loud and angry Lady Catherine de Bourgh.


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks to Laina Lee for proofreading this chapter and for the prodding!

And thanks everybody for all the very nice comments ! It definitely kept me going… which was not the plan at the beginning !

….

Chapter 3

The anger had built up in Lady Catherine de Bourgh to a bursting point when she crossed the door of the Darcy townhouse. She had worked herself into a powerful and cold rage since her interview with this outrageous Elizabeth Bennet a few hours ago. How dare she? And Anne was not woman enough to stand against her mother and calm her during the journey from Hertfordshire.

She stormed into the house and asked imperiously to see her nephew. She wanted to act and reorder her world. The issue was there, to be honest. They dared – Darcy, Elizabeth – to defy her. But she had worked hard not to be defied since the death of her husband.

She was still quite young when she was married to Lewis De Bourgh. Young and full of energy, full of expectations. He was much older, adept at living a quiet life in his estate in the country. Not abusive… kind even, but not able to change his way of life for his young bride. This eventless life had crushed her spirit. What was she to do with all the energy she had in her? When, after the birth of Anne, she realised that she was not able to conceive another child… that had been the end of her. Only one sickly daughter and an old and quiet husband. She became bitter and jealous of the happiness of other people. What right had they to be happy when she was not?

When she became a widow, she decided to fully reign over her little kingdom. That gave her some satisfaction. The feeling to be, at long last!, the only captain in the ship. Who had the means, at Rosings and in the neighbourhood, to contradict her? She managed to drive away any kind of strong personalities. Hence her recent choice of Collins for Hunsford. He was such an ideal mix of stupidity and spinelessness. Witnessing him almost every day gave her, every single time, the profound awareness of her superiority and intelligence. How could she prevent herself from giving him orders for the most intimate details of his life? He would certainly have been miserable otherwise. It was her duty! Her inferiors were some kind of children, in a way.

Darcy had always been different, however. She was not able to reach him, to get at him. Or to entirely capture his real personality, truth be said. She could feel the steel in him and was not used to managing that. She was nevertheless prepared to gamble everything on this last coup: expose the true character of Elizabeth Bennet and threaten to cut Darcy from the family. He must do his duty and marry to protect and enhance the family heritage and position in society and nothing less, just as she had done. And she had paid a dear price for that.

In this state of mind, a very ruffled Lady Catherine stepped into her nephew's study and found him rolling dice on a chessboard. The future of the family was at stake and he was rolling dice, dishevelled and muttering nonsense to himself? She was baffled for a short moment before going on with her mission… nay her crusade!


End file.
